


Caterpillar Dreams

by Historical_Muse



Category: Still Crazy (1998)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 17:15:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Historical_Muse/pseuds/Historical_Muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A grubby little West Country B&B is the setting for some surprising sleight of hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caterpillar Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> In the film, the young Beano, Tony and Ray were played by Sean Mackenzie, Gavin Kennedy, and Rupert Penry Jones respectively.

  
_...And if you go off chasing rabbits, and you know you're going to fall,/_ _Tell 'em a hookah-smoking caterpillar has given you the call..._   


~ **White Rabbit** , Jefferson Airplane

 

His face streaked with sweat and the last power-chords from Brian’s guitar ringing in his ears, Ray threw out his arms, fists clenched in triumphal salute, and acknowledged the roar of rapture from the pale, upturned faces of the baying crowd.

“Thank you, Glastonbury; we love you – _good night_!”

And then, with a final cloudburst of roars washing over them, the stage lights were pulled and Strange Fruit were rushing from the stage.

Ray, of course, still high on the crowd’s adoration, paused to acknowledge their praise, basking in their worship and the sallow rays of the rising moon whilst the other members of the band headed into the light of the backstage area, eager for the joys awaiting them there.

“Give over, Ray,” Tony hissed as he stumbled past, catching his heel on a trailing lead.  “For fuck’s sake!”

He might as well have been talking to the moon.

“Listen to that!” Ray’s voice was barely above a whisper.  “They love me, man!  Christ, it just blows me away – you can’t get a high like that anywhere else but on stage!”

“Harrumph.”  Tony was unimpressed.  “For fuck’s sake let’s get off, eh?  The Groundhogs are on next and they’ll fucking murder us if we don’t get our arses off now.”

Wrong move.

“The Groundhogs?  Who the fuck are the Groundhogs?  Eh?  We’re the _Fruits_ , man!  _Nobody_ can cut it like the fucking Fruits!”

“So how come we went on ahead of them then, eh?”

“Pearls before swine,” Ray replied smugly, as Les reappeared and helped Tony manhandle him off-stage, still uttering vile imprecations against the Groundhogs and – viler still – Mungo Jerry and Curved Air who were billed to appear later that night.  When he was in a mood like this it was pointless trying to explain to Ray that fourth billing wasn’t as bad as it appeared, given the circumstances and the festival’s line up for that night.

He was still the same in the tour bus as Hughie drove them towards the rural hostelry in which they were staying overnight.  As the voluptuous contours of Glastonbury Tor slowly disappeared under the blanket of night, Ray continued to nitpick ad nauseum about the ignominies of being so far down the bill when the bands going on after them were a pile of aural shit.  Tony listened to him rant and pushed a weary hand through his tangle of black curls.  It was at times like this, watching Ray wired and buzzing after a gig, that he was reminded all too painfully of everything he himself was not.

Ray Simms could walk the walk and talk the talk in a way that he could only begin to dream of.  Ray was an exotic, kohl-eyed bird of paradise, all pale loose limbs and liquid grace whilst he, Tony Costello, was nothing more than a clumsy, baby-faced, sad-eyed prole from a rough London council estate with all the charm, grace, and elegance of one of Beano’s farts.  A fart, furthermore, with no sense of style, an unmanageable tangle of wild hair, and a dark secret.  An ungainly ragamuffin forever lumbering in the wake of fey elf-children like Ray Simms and Brian Lovell.

He looked out at the passing countryside and sighed, now trying to distract his attention from Karen and Brian as they snuggled together on one of the bunks in the bus, giggling and fondling each other with the belief in their invisibility to others so common to those in love.  Tony knew that he loved Karen.  Had loved her ever since she’d first come on board with the Fruits, back in a heady summer of music and magic mushrooms.  And knew too that for Karen, Brian Lovell came first in her affections – now, always, forever.

But he could live with that.  That wasn’t his dark secret.  Yes, he loved Karen.  They _all_ did, in their own ways – but he wasn’t _in_ love with her.  No.  The problem was that Tony Costello was in love with Ray Simms...and had been from Day One.

Not that he’d ever thought of himself as being _gay_ , oh no.  But there was just something about Ray that made him wonder if perhaps his grasp on his sexuality wasn't quite as firm as he’d always thought.  Oh sure, he experimented when the band were on tour and the local groupies in a town found more exciting conquests elsewhere:  the odd bit of group masturbation had never fazed him.  But the effect Ray had on him was different.

The moment he’d first seen Ray, sashaying into that rehearsal room in Kilburn like Bette Davis, wrapped in an old fox-fur coat he’d picked up in Portobello Market, Tony had been lost.  Hopelessly.  Helplessly.  Irretrievably.

Ray had seemed like some kind of alien; an alien dressed like a sexy 30s film star, admittedly – but certainly unlike anything Tony had ever seen before.  And from that moment on, though at first he didn’t realise it, Tony Costello was desperately in love with Ray Simms – even though in the neighbourhood he came from, this would be more than enough to earn him a good kicking. 

His trip through treasured memories of the band’s early days was halted when Beano lurched down the aisle of the coach and then collapsed into the empty seat beside him like a sack of musty potatoes. 

“That wanker’s gettin’ right on my tits,” Beano declared to the bus in general and Tony in particular.  “’Ark at ‘im!  It’s not gonna make a bollock o’ difference now, but you try tellin’ ole Blondie that.”  Beano belched, scratched his groin, and then broke wind, raising one leg and shaking it vigorously.  “I like to make sure as everyone gets the benefit,” he explained to Tony, an evil leer on his face as the other band members groaned, waving their hands ineffectually in front of their noses and making suitably aggrieved comments. 

Tony sighed and turned his face back to the window, hoping that Beano would take the hint and piss off.  But it was pointless.  He should’ve known that he was wasting his time by being subtle.  Beano was genetically incapable of responding to subtlety, and this was proved when a sharp elbow was delivered with all the power at a drummer’s command into Tony’s ribs.  “Wassa matter wi’ _you_ then, bollock chops?” he demanded, his rolling West Country accent as full and rounded as his body and the countryside of his native county.  “Look like you’ve just found a turd floatin’ in yer beer.” 

“Just thinking,” Tony parried, his heart sinking when he remembered that he’d agreed to share a room with the West Country Wind Machine tonight.

“Don’t pay to do much o’ that,” Beano opined.  “Thinkin’.  Not thinkin’ ‘as never done _me_ no ‘arm.  _Ray_ , on the other ‘and, ol’ slim-‘ips the super-shagger, never does anythin’ _else_ , and look where it’s got ‘im, the wanker.”  He gave Tony’s ribs another pummelling.  “What you need,” he offered solicitously, “is a little somethin’ to take your mind off things a bit.”

Tony looked round, interest piqued.  “What you offering?”

“What you want?” countered Beano slyly.

Tony shrugged.  “Dunno.”

“Wanna get up or get down?”

Another shrug.  “Dunno.”

“Oh fuck me,” barked Beano, exasperated.  “Make your friggin’ mind up, Costello.”

Tony thought about it.  “I need...I need somethin’ to....”  His hands described circular patterns that he hoped would clarify his meaning.

“Wanna get a little...mellow?” offered Beano. “"Eh?  Go out an’ lie in a field an’ feel them vibes a-comin’ floatin’ on the breeze from Avalon?”

Tony’s smile was a trifle wan.  “ _Something_ like that,” he admitted.

“Here we are boys,” bellowed Hughie from the front of the bus as he pulled on the brake and the vehicle shuddered to a halt.  “Our wee grey hame in the west.”

“’Ere...”  Beano reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out a slightly battered joint.  He dusted it down and made a show of making it look more presentable.  “I think that might be just what sir is lookin’ for...”

Tony took the cigarette and sniffed it suspiciously.

“Best weed, that,” Beano said indignantly.  “Got it off some bloke from Porlock.  Grew ‘is own.  Grew delphiniums, too, I remember ‘im sayin’.  An’ all ‘is own veggies.  Said it took ‘is mind off the caterpillars eatin’ ‘is fuckin’ cabbages.  Should’ve ‘ad clouds of Acapulco Gold waftin’ over ‘is cabbages if you ask me – stoned caterpillars would be fuckin’ easier to remove.  An’ they’d die ‘appy, _that’s_ for sure.  Waste o’ good weed, mind, but I s’pose it’s all relative...”

For a moment Tony looked at the spliff thoughtfully, oblivious to the others wending their way wearily down the aisle and off the bus towards the cramped looking little B&B they were booked into for the night.  “Makes you think, doesn’t it?”

“What?”

“What d’you suppose a stoned caterpillar would think about?”

Beano’s hand delved into his trousers and began scratching absently at his scrotum.  “I don’t rightly know!” he admitted at length.  “I s’pose they thinks about becomin’ butterflies, wouldn’t you say?  Or where their next bit o’ cabbage is comin’ from.  That an’ avoidin’ bein’ eaten by fuckin’ great birds, I suppose...though if you ask me, I quite _like_ the idea of bein’ eaten by a fuckin’ great bird, me...”  And he gurgled disgustingly, mind momentarily overwhelmed by visions of lechery.

And then Les was yelling down the bus at them.  “You two plannin’ on stayin’ there all night?”

“We're on our way, Wicksy!” Beano bellowed back.  “Get the drinks in will you?  There’s a good lad.”  He gave Tony another helping of sharp elbow.  It was surprising, Tony thought, that someone as well-upholstered as Beano could have elbows that felt so much like sharp sticks.  “Gonna be a long night,” Beano predicted solemnly.  “No tarts or nothin’ to take our minds off the long journey ahead tomorrow or Ray with ‘is arse still in ‘is ‘ands about goin’ on afore the Ground’ogs an’ Mungo friggin’ Jerry.” 

And then he released another loud blast of noxious gases and set off down the bus, cackling madly. 

* * * * * * * * *

The Pike and Poacher was a modest little inn offering bed and breakfast facilities to rock bands and other exhausted travellers on the road towards Wells.  Thanks to the vagaries of tour planning Strange Fruit had a gig in Newcastle the following night, so there was little time or sense in carousing the rest of the evening away.  This far out of town it was hardly surprising that there were no groupies around; and with only a small black and white TV in the guest lounge, there was very little in the way of distractions at this time of night.

After he got off the bus, Tony listened for a while to the cows lowing in their sheds several fields away and seriously considered Beano’s suggestion of smoking his spliff in a prone position in a field somewhere, the better to feel the mystical emanations from twenty or so miles down the road.  But then, as he felt the first few heavy drops of rain, he changed his mind and thought briefly and sympathetically of the Glastonbury festival goers who were no doubt going to get drenched while he was snug and warm in bed.  And when he heard the low, dull rumble of thunder away in the distance, he grinned to himself and then pushed open the pub door.

Inside there was a pint of Guinness waiting for him on the bar counter.  Brian and Karen had gone to bed, and Les, Beano, and Hughie were playing cards in a corner, effortlessly ignoring Ray who was still high on adrenaline and adulation to the point where he was starting to become obnoxious.  The only other denizens of The Pike and Poacher were a handful of tight-lipped locals, alternately staring into their drinks and shooting belligerent glares at Ray.  Tony winced and smiled wryly to himself.  When Ray was like this, he couldn’t blame anyone for taking umbrage at his outrageous behaviour.

Not that Tony didn’t know what it was like.  It was something Tony could well understand, the way that Ray got off on performing.  Hell, he loved it too – he only really came alive when he was on-stage, playing the music he loved, pounding the keyboard and belting out harmonies with Les.  But with Ray, it was like a drug.  No.  It was _more_ than that.  It was like...well, like something he needed in order to survive; like air, water, or food.

Without the adoration of his audience, the constant feedback telling him that he was wanted, was accepted, was loved unconditionally...without that Ray was nothing.  It was the only thing that made him feel that he truly existed.

Tony looked over at the bar and saw that the barman and the few other regulars supping ales in corners were starting to exchange increasingly grim looks and nods and ominous glowers in Ray’s direction.  It was definitely time to take charge of the situation.

“Come on, mate,” Tony said, taking Ray’s arm and giving him a disarming smile.  “Time to mellow out and leave these good people in peace to enjoy their beers.”

Ray stared at him.  “Hey, man, I’m just being friendly!  I’m not hassling anyone, am I?  I’m not bringing anyone down here, am I?”  He looked at the stony faces around the bar and faltered.  “We’re all cool here, right?”

Something in the baffled, hurt tone of Ray’s voice made Tony’s heart turn over.  Oh Christ, sometimes Ray could be _so_ green.  “Come on, Ray – we’ve got a gig in Newcastle tomorrow night.  We’ve got a long day ahead of us.  Better get some sleep, eh?” 

Ray tried to shake him off.  “No, man, it’s okay, I’ll be fine.  No problems, man...” 

“No.”  Tony took a firmer hold on Ray’s arm.  “I think it’s time you called it a day, man.  You’re gonna end up wasted, otherwise.  C’mon – let’s get you some beauty sleep!”

“No, I wanna stay here...”  Tony ducked as the sweep of Ray’s arm flew over his head to encompass everyone in the room.  “With my friends.”

“Yeah, but you need to protect your pipes, Ray.  Don’t want the voice to give out on stage tomorrow night, do you?”

Ray hesitated.  “Well...”

Sensing that he was winning Ray over, Tony squeezed his arm.  “Listen,” he hissed conspiratorially into Ray’s ear before indicating the pocket with Beano’s joint in it.  “I’ve got a spliff here.  Want a hit on it?  I'll share.  What do you say?  Just you an’ me?”

For a few moments Ray wavered, clearly weighing up his options, but unsure of his next move.  And then he shook himself, thin shoulders lost inside his huge coat.  “Okay, man.  Bring it on.”  Then he began rifling through his pockets with studied determination, eventually bringing out fistfuls of notes and coins, which he flung down on the bar top.  “Here.”  He beamed cherubically at the barman.  “Drinks for everyone.  On me.”

The effect of the cash on the locals was amazing.  “Cheers, son!” said the barman, whilst the other customers raised their glasses in salute.  “You’re a gentleman!”

“Night, guys!”  Ray turned and waved to the rest of Strange Fruit, who waved back and mumbled replies according to their level of interest in their card game.  Then, apparently satisfied with the response, he linked arms with Tony and let himself be led towards the stairs to the rooms above.

* * * * * * * * *

Tony and Ray sat facing each other on the two twin beds in the pokey little room.  “Here,” said Tony, lighting the battered joint and inhaling the sweet smoke before offering it to Ray.  “On me.”

Ray was ferreting around in his pockets again.  “Just a minute...”

Tony took more of the fragrant fumes into his lungs, squinting against the wisps stinging his eyes.  “What's wrong, man?”

Ray stopped fidgeting and took something out of his pocket.  “Actually, I’ve got one here, man.  Beano gave it to me.”  He put the cigarette into his mouth and lit it, breathing in before handing it over to Tony.  “Here.  Swapsies.”

Tony paused, then shrugged and took the proffered joint before handing his own across to Ray; they took in deep lungfuls of smoke, held it, then let out scented clouds and contented sighs.

“Good shit, man,” Ray squeaked, his pinched face unfolding like a flower as he twisted around and lay back on the bed.

Tony nodded.  “I’m surprised at Beano,” he grinned.  “Not usually so generous, is he, the big, tight-arsed bugger.”

“Must be after our bodies.”

“You reckon as Beano’s a turd-burglar, Ray?”

“Nah, more likely to be a sheep-shagger, Beano.  These West Country boys usually are.”

“Oi – steady there, Ray...” retorted Tony with a grin, imitating Beano’s Bristol accent.

“If he is, I’m not gonna give in without a hell of a fight.”  Ray giggled the words out through curling plumes of smoke.  “You never know where Beano’s dick’s been.  And since we’re back on his home turf, so to speak, there could be a lot of his old ladies out there in the fields tonight.”

“Yeah – might make ‘em jealous,” Tony nodded, trying to maintain a serious expression.  Then he fixed Ray with a stern look.  “Better not wear that new sheepskin coat you bought in Glastonbury, then.”  He offered his gypsy’s warning with a wagging finger.  “You might get a nasty surprise.”

Ray took another drag on his joint.  “Nah.  _I’m_ the ram around here,” he said smugly, thrusting his hips meaningfully by way of illustration.

“Wonder where he _did_ get this pot from, though?” Tony mused, trying to ignore the effects of Ray’s demonstration and peering at the lighted end of the spliff as though it would bring him further illumination.  “I know Beano.  And I can’t help being suspicious.  D’you think he’s winding us up?”

Ray held in a mouthful of smoke and then released it with luxurious slowness.  Tony felt his groin lurch in response to the sight of those half-parted lips.  “Ain’t got the brains, man.”  Ray tapped his nose carefully.  “Got plenty of native cunning, but he knows what we’d do to him if he stitched us up.”

“Where did he tell you it came from?  Did he tell you about the man from Porlock?”

“The man from where?” Ray spluttered.

“Porlock,” Tony replied, starting to laugh himself.  “Said he grew it himself to stop him thinking about the caterpillars eating his veg, or something.  Reckoned he should use it to get ‘em stoned so that they wouldn’t eat the fuckers.”

“How would he do that?”

“Dunno.  Get all ‘is mates to lie in the field, smoke joints and breathe heavily, maybe.  And then when the caterpillars were stoned they could...”  He shook his head.  “I’m not sure _what_ they’d do afterwards.  _Squash_ ‘em, probably.”

“Oh...”  Ray’s mouth twisted into a moué of distaste.  “Surely not.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“They’re still God’s creatures, man.”

They sat in silence for a while and then Tony found his mind turning to a familiar subject. “Ray,” he began as he started rummaging in his suitcase for the bars of chocolate and packets of crisps he knew were in there somewhere.  “What do you think stoned caterpillars would dream about?”

“Oh man...”  Eyes closed, Ray shook his head as he squirmed on the bed, getting into a more comfortable position.  Catching sight of this, Tony felt his cock gave another twitch and found himself wondering if this had been such a good idea after all.  “Man,” Ray continued.  “You come up with the craziest things, Costello.”

“But what do you think?”

Ray opened one eye.  “If you were a caterpillar and you were stoned, what would _you_ think about?”

“Dunno.  They dream about becoming butterflies, Beano says.  That and not being eaten by birds.”

Ray laughed.  “No.  I don’t think I'm in the mood for being eaten by a bird, either.  But...”  And then he seemed to drift away.  “Butterflies, man...”  His voice was distant, dreamy, and impossibly heart-breaking.  “Beautiful...  I can see them, man...all the colours of the rainbow...wings of gold...wings like huge sails...soaring over Glastonbury Tor...”  He shook his head again, the cloud of blonde hair spreading over the pillow.  “Did you know they say that Glastonbury Tor is like...”  His hands described a meaningful shape over his chest.  “...Like a breast, man?  The breast of the Earth Goddess?  And the tower is like...Her nipple, man...”

_Oh god..._   Tony wished Ray’s mind wasn’t working this way...

Now Ray’s hands were suiting action to word.  “...So the butterflies...are like...like kisses, man...like someone kissing the breast of the Earth Goddess... _Beautiful_...”

“Yeah...”  Tony swallowed the lump that had come suddenly to his throat.  “Beautiful, man...”  And then the double meaning of his words hit him and he knew he wasn’t sure if he was talking about butterflies or...

He took another, desperate drag on the joint, almost choking himself by inhaling too much too quickly and too deeply.  When he stopped coughing, he looked across at Ray again.  Dear god, but he was beautiful.  Not effeminate, but...beautiful.  Like something out of mythology.  Like...Venus, perhaps – or Apollo.  Or something.  He shook his head, trying to clear it.  God, this was strong weed...or perhaps it was his very own caterpillar dreams that were making his head swim.

He looked across at Ray again, and saw that he seemed to have dozed off.  One clear thought that came through the current fog in his brain was that he ought to retrieve Ray’s spliff for safety’s sake.  Padding across to Ray’s bed on legs that felt like those of a Tracy brother, Tony leaned over him and took the cigarette still clutched in Ray’s fingers, then straightened up and put it in the ashtray on the bedside table – and then, the air suddenly sucked from his lungs and his mind in free-fall, he found himself looking down at his friend, seeing the spun-gold hair and the sharp, chiselled cheekbones and full lips as though for the first time.

Tempted beyond endurance, Tony stretched out his hand, the action seeming to take forever, and stroked Ray’s hair and face with tender fingers.  Oh god, but Ray was definitely a butterfly...and he, in comparison, was merely a lowly caterpillar who’d never get the chance to stretch his delicate wings.

Suddenly, to Tony’s wide-eyed amazement, Ray opened his eyes and grabbed two fistfuls of Tony’s unruly black hair.  With a smile as feral as sin, Ray looked up into the startled face above him and licked his lips.  “C’mere, big boy,” he growled, pulling Tony’s face down to his and kissing him.  _Hard_.

At first, Tony was taken aback, thinking it all part of a pot-induced fantasy.  But when Ray’s lips parted under his and a tongue was pressed firmly and assuredly into his mouth, he knew that no fantasy could feel as good as this.  Not even stopping to question the reasoning behind what was happening, this dream of his finally becoming reality, Tony closed his eyes and let Ray plunder his mouth, feeling Ray’s hands burying themselves in his mane of hair and pulling his face closer still.

Tony felt his knees buckle and he tried to steady himself by pressing his palms into the bed either side of Ray’s flowing hair and bracing himself against the side of the bed, but it didn't work.  His cock was pressing painfully against the inside of his jeans and his skin felt as though it was on fire.  In the circumstances it was much, much easier simply to give in and to allow his hands and body to do what they wanted.  He let his fingers wind themselves into Ray’s silky hair and didn’t fight when his body settled down across Ray’s.

Didn’t fight when his arms clutched Ray to him.  Didn’t fight when Ray wrapped his long legs around his own.  Didn’t fight when he felt Ray’s hands sliding down the back of his jeans.  Didn’t fight when Ray began to thrust his hips involuntarily, rubbing the engorged hardness tenting his crushed velvet Biba trousers against the answering swell in Tony’s tattered jeans.

Didn’t fight when he felt his fingers digging into Ray’s flesh as the golden child pushed him over and onto his back.  Didn’t struggle when Ray, shirt buttons now awry and his face flushed with lust and exertion, straddled his waist, and began pulling at his t-shirt and his jeans button.  Didn’t fight when hot, sweet kisses were pressed against his exposed flesh.

Oh God, that heat.  The scorching intensity of Ray’s caresses – the feel of Ray’s hands and lips...of Ray’s skin.  _Sweet Jesus_.  The power of the realisation hit him like a white-hot sunburst:  it was _Ray_ doing this to him...  Suddenly Tony felt sure that he would explode into a million charred cinders if anything were to stop them now.  He reached out to stroke, to touch, to reassure himself that it was all true.  “Oh god, Ray,” he whimpered.  “I don’t want you to stop...don’t want you to...”

“Sssshhh...”  Ray yanked Tony’s t-shirt out of his jeans and up over his head, then leaned down again to begin lapping at the stiffening nipples as his hand tugged down Tony’s zip and fumbled impatiently for his rigid cock.

“No...wait...” Tony mumbled back, sure that he would come as soon as Ray touched him and that if that happened he would wake to find himself lying in the middle of a rain-soaked Somerset field.  Alone.

And besides...

“Want to see you...”  He pushed Ray away and reached up to free the last of Ray’s shirt buttons, then unzipped his trousers and reached in for Ray’s erection.  His hand closed around searing, moistened flesh which bucked and jerked in his hand, then pulled it free of the constricting material...and found himself unable to do anything more than simply stare.  He’d never really noticed before, but _Jesus_ – Ray must surely have the most enormous cock he’d ever seen.

It wasn’t that he was _unaware_ of Ray’s size – they’d all seen each other naked far too often for that, and Tony couldn’t deny that he’d always found his eyes drawn to this forbidden fruit.  But he’d always been too reticent and too afraid of overly perceptive comments to allow himself full licence to study Ray’s body as closely as he’d yearned to.  But now, being so close...  Tony closed his eyes and licked his dry lips.  No, this had to be nothing more than a dream...

“Hey... _hey!_ ”  Taking advantage of the sudden lull in activity, Ray pulled off his shirt and then rolled onto his back, taking Tony with him.  “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a dick before, Costello...”

Suddenly shy, Tony shook his head.  “Not one like _that_....”

Ray took Tony’s hand, pressing it against his penis and pushing himself into Tony’s fingers, grinding his hips provocatively as their bodies squirmed against each other.  “I’ve never had any complaints...”  He took Tony’s head in his free hand, the curls twisting around his fingers.  “Come on.  Touch me.  You’re the keyboard player; you should be good with your hands...  And I want to feel those hands on my cock...”  Ray kissed him hungrily, making small noises of pleasure in throat as Tony stroked and caressed the penis that grew and blossomed under his ministrations. “Does it feel good?”

Tony swallowed, tried to moisten his parched lips once more.  “Y-yes.  Not just your cock, _everything_.  _Everything_ feels good...feels _right_...”

Ray let a rumble of quiet laughter break against Tony’s throat.  “Of course...” he purred, tugging at Tony’s jeans to free his erection.  “You’re pretty well-developed yourself,” he observed with a growl of approval, running his fingers lightly over Tony’s penis and making him whimper with desire.

Senses in sudden, sweet turmoil, Tony closed his eyes and let his mind slip free of its moorings, allowing his awareness to flow out into his nerve endings so that he could feel every touch, every stroke, every brush of Ray’s lips, mouth, hands, and hard, firm body, so that he would miss nothing.  Oh sweet Jesus...  Tony knew that if anything should happen to end this, his body and soul would be shattered into blazing silver-white fragments and scattered by the cosmic winds amongst wandering stars and cold constellations – lost forever to this heat and fire.  “Oh god, Ray,” he whispered, mouth searching blindly for Ray’s warm, smooth skin.  “Touch me...  Want your hands on me...  Oh god...you’re... _beautiful_ , man...”

“So are you,” Ray moaned softly.  “Now come on – I want to see _all_ of you...”

When at last they were both naked, Ray flung himself on Tony once more.  Tony tried to make sense of what he was feeling, but it was more than his senses could handle.  Women were one thing – but the smooth planes and angular hollows of Ray’s rangy frame and the insistent pressure of his erection were a pleasure he felt he could never tire of.  “Ray,” he whispered imploringly.  “What do you want me to _do_?”

Ray chuckled, and licked a circular path down Tony’s jaw.  “You always were the obliging one, Tony,” he growled, drawing Tony over on top of him.  Wrapping Tony’s hand tighter around his penis, Ray guided his partner in an age-old rhythm.  “That’s it,” he hissed, arching against the bed and thrusting gently into Tony’s fingers.  “Madam Palm and her five sweet daughters...they know how to please a boy...”

“Oh God...”

Tony wiped sweat off his brow and tried to concentrate – but it was impossible.  Kneeling over Ray, he drew his hand slowly up and down the hard, fiery shaft, hypnotised by the rich red glans at its tip and the life-force pulsing through its length.  He tried to copy the cadence that Ray had shown him; but even with the heady effects of the grass, he was beginning to be overwhelmed by nerves.  He felt as though he were looking down on the bed from the ceiling and watching a graceful, golden angel being mauled by the fumbling, uncoordinated urchin straddling those long, elegant legs.

Suddenly sickened, Tony knew in that instant that he was going to fail.  He knew that he was going to let Ray down and it was the last thing he wanted to do.  He loved Ray and this was what he’d wanted for longer than he could remember.  But he knew his weakness all too well; he was far too awkward to be a good enough lover for Ray – too clumsy and inept by half.  Ray was going to be disappointed and – worse – be dismissive of his attempts to please.  Oh, Ray would say everything was cool and that maybe the time wasn’t right; but Tony would know that he’d let Ray down and he couldn’t bear the thought of being a failure in Ray’s eyes.

It didn’t help that the sight of Ray spread naked and wanton and willing beneath him had his own cock standing rigidly to attention and demanding to be noticed.  Even his dark thoughts about his performance weren’t enough to dispel the power of seeing Ray’s beautiful body below his.

“Tony...”  There was some amusement beneath the low moan.  “Stop rubbing my dick like you’re trying to shake sauce over your chips.  It’s not a bottle of HP...”

Tony flinched.  “Sorry...”

“Ouch!”

“Sorry...”  Now filled with unutterable misery, for a moment Tony stared down at the softening cock in his hand and thought dark, dismal thoughts about his pathetic lovemaking skills as he tried to ignore the beginnings of a headache pulsing behind his eyes.  He must be coming down from the effects of the grass already.  “Jesus – I am such a fuckin’useless –”

Before he had chance to say exactly what he thought he was, he found himself being taken in warm, slender arms and kissed.

“Not useless,” Ray murmured against his lips, sucking gently at the flesh.  “Not you.  You’re so sweet...take care of me...  Just...c’mere...let me show you how...”  Ray drew him, unresisting, gently down onto the bed, and rolled the unresisting musician beneath him.  “Now, as I was saying...”  He fastened his mouth over Tony’s and led him into a slow, devouring kiss that gradually drew all the air from Tony’s lungs; then began sucking at his tongue.

Jesus, but this was like heaven.  Tony draped his arms languorously around Ray’s neck and shoulders and enjoyed the sensation of simply holding him...of feeling that smooth, hard body against his own and those warm lips nuzzling against his skin.

“...Beautiful...” Ray murmured as he kissed Tony’s face and neck.  “You’re beautiful, man...have the face of an angel...”

“ _Me_?” Tony exclaimed breathlessly as Ray’s tongue stroked his.  “The face of an angel?”

“Yeah, man...a dark, sweet, wanton angel...”

“Oh _God_...”  Tony made a futile attempt at struggling.  Ray was saying the kind of things he’d always wanted to hear, but something about this seemed wrong.  It should be him doing this to _Ray_ , not...  “Ray – please – this isn't right...not how it should be...”

“It’s right...it’s _so_ fucking right.  Can’t be wrong...could _never_ be wrong...”

“No – I mean you – me – it should be me doing this for _you_...”

Ray paused and looked up at Tony with questioning eyes.  “For fuck’s sake, _why_?”

“Because...”

“’Because’ _why_ , Tony?  Because you think it’s your duty to keep us all happy?  Because you think you have to make sure everything runs smoothly and everyone’s taken care of?”  Ray groaned in exasperation.  “Christ, Tony – don’t you _ever_ take a break?  You’re not my fucking mother!”

“Just want to...”  Tony sighed.  “Ray, man...  I’ve always looked up to you, man,”

Ray kissed him again.  “I know,” he whispered.  “Love you too, man.”

“...Always looked up to you, man...”  Tony murmured against Ray’s hair.  “Love you...love you, Ray...want to fuck – ”  And then, ashamed of having almost admitted what he wanted, he buried his face in the pillow, hot tears of shame starting to well in his dark eyes.  _< Oh shit...>_ he thought miserably.

“Mmmm...”  Now Ray was cradling Tony’s head in one hand, fingers buried in the unkempt black curls, whilst the other was nestling in Tony’s groin, cupping and rolling the swollen, heavy balls in lazy fingers.  “Is that what you want, Tony?  A fuck?”  His caresses became slower, more arousing.  “Can’t think of anything I’d like more myself,” Ray chuckled, laughter vibrating against Tony’s throat.  “I’ve always thought you were extremely fuckable.”

“ _Me_?” Tony gasped, half-delighted, half-terrified.

“I like ‘em rough,” Ray replied, a smile in his voice.  “But you’re kinda _both_...”  His fingers trailed across Tony’s brow and down his cheek.  “Such a surprisingly sweet, innocent little baby face you have.  You look like butter wouldn’t melt in your...mouth,” he finished, with another lewd gurgle as his hand moved higher.

And then his palm was sliding lazily up the length of Tony’s cock, caressing and squeezing and gentle and infinitely knowing and seductive as his long fingers drew more shudders and whimpers from the man lying pinned beneath him.

“Ray... _please_...”

“’Ray please’ what?”  Gently, tenderly, Ray reached over and took Tony’s chin in his hand.  “Look at me,” he said quietly, turning Tony’s head back towards him.  “Fuck it, Tony – look at me!”  Blinking back tears, Tony obeyed.  “Listen, man,” Ray went on, his voice as soft as the silence around them.  “You wanted to please me?  You wanted to give me head or something?  Is that it?”

Face blazing with embarrassment at Ray’s incisive assessment of what he wanted, Tony nodded.  “Yes.”

“Shit, man...”  Now Ray was grinning broadly.  “How’d you know that doing this _isn’t_ pleasing me?  I’ve always thought it would be good to fuck you, Tony; I’ve always thought you could be persuaded to switch teams, and I was right...”  He sucked hard at the flesh of Tony’s neck and then nipped the skin with his teeth.  “And you know, sometimes I _like_ being in charge... so lie back and take it, man...if you want to make me happy, just let me enjoy myself...”

“But it’s not how it _should_ be – Jesus _Christ_!”  And then all thought spun away like stars into a vortex as Ray leaned over Tony again and his mouth was covered in a hard kiss.  “Jesus...” Tony gasped when Ray finally raised his head.  “ _Jesus_...”

Ray’s hand was moving more quickly now as his tongue lapped at Tony’s taut nipples, one moment licking roughly, his lips tugging gently on their swollen flesh the next.  Tony closed his eyes and surrendered rapturously to the moment as all his dreams – his wildest fantasies – came true and all the meaning in his life found its focus in the sights and sounds and sensations of Ray Simms making love to him here, on this bed with its threadbare candlewick bedspread, in a dingy bedroom over a pub in the depths of Somerset.

Hands clutching alternately at Ray’s fine, silken hair and at the bed cover, he allowed his mind full reign to concentrate on the way it felt to have Ray’s hands on his cock and in his hair...Ray’s mouth on his own...moving lower...on his body...moving lower still...on his...

... _Oh Christ_...

Ray’s mouth – smooth, wet, as hot as hell, and equally seductive – was stretched eagerly over the dark head of his swollen, jerking cock.  Tony felt Ray’s tongue flick briefly at the already weeping eye and thought that the top of his skull would explode as the full import of what Ray was doing finally hit him.

“How does that feel, baby?” Ray raised his head for a moment.  “Does it feel good?”

“Feels...”  Tony shook his head, mind already a million miles away.  “Feels like I’ve died and gone to heaven, man...”

Ray rubbed his cheek against the trembling, silky-smooth flesh he held delicately in his hand.  “You’re feeling pretty fucking good too...”  He gave a low, growl of laughter.  “'Look to the mirror, boy',” he quoted with a feral grin, pointing across to the dressing table in the window alcove.

“What...?”  Tony lifted his head carefully and looked in the direction Ray indicated.  He shivered when he saw Ray and himself replicated in the smeared glass.

Once more it was Ray’s turn to look like a creature from another world; to Tony’s feverish gaze he seemed like a fallen angel with his flowing, dishevelled hair and flushed skin, his long, thick cock curving enticingly from its golden nest...and the look of naked hunger in his eyes as his hand stroked Tony’s erection.

Ray ran his finger seductively down the centre of Tony’s body from his throat to his groin, and then gave another of his low, throaty chuckles before he positioned himself once more above Tony’s straining penis.  “It’s show time!” he whispered, closing his mouth once more over the hard, burning flesh.

* * * * * * * * *

It could’ve been hours, it could’ve been minutes, and it could’ve been forever...

All that really mattered to Tony was the mirror vision of Ray crouched over him like a succubus, naked and sweating in the stuffy room.  He watched, captivated, as Ray’s golden head moved back and forth, his mouth drawing all the heat in the room and their bodies into the engorged flesh between his swollen lips.

Heat and moisture and the practised caresses of his cock and balls by Ray’s hands...the sound of his groans and whimpers mixed with Ray’s vocal sounds of pleasure as Tony’s body moved more frantically within the confines of those perfect, full lips ...  All this, combined with the remaining spice of the joints they’d smoked and his sweat-soaked skin against the tattered bedspread, was a whirling, crazy kaleidoscope that seemed to be both a wild, fabulous fantasy and the most honest, exciting, truly real moment of his life.

And then the swirling colours fused into one iridescent, pure blue-white light as he climaxed, his semen seeming to be sucked from the very depths of his soul and soaring like gouts of white flame and heat into Ray’s eager mouth.  A warm mouth that sucked and devoured and swallowed with evident enjoyment.  _Ray’s_ mouth...

As he felt himself begin to fall into the billowing, cushioned depths of after-glow, the last sights and sounds Tony registered were of Ray masturbating with feverish delight as he licked the last dribbles of semen from his cock – and then Ray’s cry of pleasure as he came, covering Tony’s body in a stream of hot, sticky fluid.

* * * * * * * * *

“Tony...”

The kisses were sweet, feather-light, tasted of...

Tony opened his eyes, remembering.  “Hi,” he smiled sleepily, stroking Ray’s hair and letting the blonde angel take his mouth again.

“Listen, man...gotta go...”

Tony’s heart sank, the warmth and contented good-humour of lovemaking sliding effortlessly away into a familiar pit of emptiness.  “Why?  Can’t you stay here for the rest of the night, Ray?  That was _so_ good...wanna do the same for _you_ , man....”

Ray stopped him with a finger across his lips.  “No.  Not tonight.  Wanna go and find something to eat, man.”

“I’ve got something...”

Ray smiled affectionately and shook his head.  “No.  Tony, I’d _love_ to stay with you tonight, but...”  He sighed.  “Take too long to explain to the others, man...’specially to Beano.” He kissed Tony again, then raised himself reluctantly from the dark youth’s body.  “Sorry, man.  Nothing personal.”  Another kiss.  “Have to go...”

Feeling bereft, Tony shivered as Ray got off the bed and slipped back into his clothes.  “I...don’t know what to say, Ray....”

“What do you _wanna_ say?  Listen – was it good?  It was _good_ for you, man?”

“Shit, Ray – you _know_ it was.”

Ray shucked himself into his crushed velvet trousers and fastened the belt.  “Then there’s nothing to say, is there?” he smiled gently.  “Love you, man,” he added, blowing a kiss from the door.

“Love you too,” Tony whispered into the darkness as Ray closed the door softly behind him.  He closed his eyes and felt hot tears begin to well up in them.  This _couldn’t_ be all there would be... not after...  He heard footsteps coming back down the hall and his heart leapt.  “Ray?” he whispered hoarsely, half-rising from the bed.

And then to Tony’s horror, the door was flung open to reveal a drowsy but garrulous Beano.

“ _There_ you are, you crafty ole bugger!” the rotund drummer crowed before launching himself across the faded carpet and sprawling over the second bed.  “Just saw Ray goin’ down the corridor,” he added, finding something fascinating in the depths of his groin.  “Looked pretty ‘appy with the world, I thought.  Missed anythin’ good, ‘ave I?”  He bounced off the bed and over to Tony’s suitcase without waiting for an answer.  “Aztec bars!” he exclaimed jubilantly.  “Ain’t seen one o’ these since Truro!”

Tony stared at Beano, thick waves of disappointment and dejection rolling over him.  “ _Jesus_ , Beano...”

But as usual, Beano wasn’t paying attention.  Shucking off his clothes whilst stuffing chocolate into his maw, he finally came to rest on the bed, looking for all the world like a small pink mountain.  “Time for bed, said Zebedee!” he guffawed, eyeing Tony’s naked, sweating body with detached interest.  “Not disturbin’ anythin’, am I?  Or am I too late?”

“No...not disturbing anything...”

“Oh good.”  Beano yawned, then peered into Tony’s groin.  “Been givin’ Percy Pecker summat to nibble at then, eh?”  He indicated the scatter of semen stains on Tony’s torso.  “Or the old ‘and shandy was it?”

“Fuck off, Beano.”

“Suit yerself,” Beano shrugged, unperturbed.  “I’ve never felt the need to get embarrassed about yankin’ me todger, meself.  ‘S only natural, like – fine young lad like me all a-throbbin’ with testosterone...”

Tony winced.  The idea of Beano throbbing at all struck him as faintly unpleasant.

Beano shoved more chocolate into his mouth, broke wind, looked suddenly contrite.  “’Ere.  Got a confession to make.”

“Oh yeah...”  Tony wasn’t really interested in Beano’s confessions; his mind was still on his sensory memories of Ray’s hands and lips on his body – of his mouth, sucking and greedy, devouring his cock.

“I don’t feel proud o’ this, I want you to know that, I really do.  But it’s about that spliff I gave you earlier.”

“Oh aye...”

“Well...see...  Thing is, it wasn’t.”

“Oh, right...”  The memory of Ray leaving like a thief in the night still stung.  It hurt more than he could ever have believed – or cared to admit.

And then what Beano had said suddenly permeated through his depression.  “Wasn’t _what_?” he asked, bemused.

Beano actually had the decency to look embarrassed.  That in itself was a first.  “A spliff,” he admitted.

This wasn’t making sense.  “What do you mean, it wasn’t a spliff...”

“What I said!” Beano huffed.  “It wasn’t a spliff.”

“Seemed like one to – ”  Tony paused; not only to try and make sense of what Beano was saying, but also to take stock of the wild surges of excitement Beano’s words had sent pulsing through him.  “Well what _was_ it, then?”

“Um...”  Beano was finding his chest hair fascinating.  “Got a pack of ‘em in some ‘ealth shop in Glastonbury.”  He leaned across to where he’d thrown his leather jacket, revealing more of his arse than Tony really wanted to see.  “’Ere...”  He held up a small, rectangular pack.  “You’ve got to admit that they do look like the real thing...”

“Herbal cigarettes?” Tony exclaimed with a roar.  “What the fuck did you think you were playing at, Beano?”

Beano threw his hands up to cover his head.  “Not the face!  Not the face!” he whined, a gurgle of laughter already loitering treacherously behind his words.

“So there _was_ no pot-head from Porlock, then?”

“Nope...”

“You wanker, Beano!”

The portly drummer merely gave him a wicked grin.  “’Ad the desired effect though, didn’t it?”

“Wha –”  Tony took another look at Beano’s grin and knew it was pointless to argue the toss.  “Depends what you mean by the ‘desired effect’,” he parried with a smile.

“Was you lifted to a higher plane, Anthony?” Beano's tone was mock aristocratic.  “Were all the secrets of the universe finally revealed to you?  An’ ‘ave you got any more Aztec bars stuffed away somewhere?”

“Here...”  Tony reached into the bedside cabinet drawer and took out more bars of chocolate, one of which he threw across to Beano.  “Enjoy yourself...”

“Ah, thanks, Tone, you’re a gentleman...”

“So they say...”  Something else occurred to him.  “Did you give one of those herbal fags to Ray, Beano?”

“I cannot tell a lie,” admitted Beano through a quagmire of chocolate and nougat.  “I did.”

Suddenly assailed by the desire for something to eat, Tony lay back and began to devour his own bar of chocolate.  His mind was spinning.  If Ray had had one of those herbal cigarettes, then he to must’ve thought it was the real thing...

“...Thing is, though,” Beano was saying, “I _told_ Ray what it was.  Told ‘im I’d given you one an’ kidded you it was finest Mary Jane.  Thought it was a _tremendous_ wheeze, did Ray...”

Tony knew he should’ve been angry with Beano – perhaps with Ray, too...  Only something was stopping him:  the fact that he was suddenly too gobsmacked to be angry.

Because if Ray _had_ known he was never going to get high on that herbal mixture, maybe he’d used that knowledge for a strange, backhanded case of _in vino veritas_...

And so maybe, just...maybe, _this_ little caterpillar’s dreams were going to come true after all... 

* * The End * *


End file.
